Timing in Life is Everything
by Sorsha711
Summary: Destiny has its own agenda… its own time. Begins during H:LOTS and continues into L&O:SVU; a Munch-centric romance that explains his transition from Baltimore frump to NYC cool.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Timing in Life is Everything, Chapter 1

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: _Homicide: Life on the Street_ & _L&O: SVU_; Munch/OFC

Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf or the creators of H:LOTS. Sadly, I don't own them and I won't make a dime off of taking them out to play  
Summary: Destiny has its own agenda… its own time. Begins during _H:LOTS_ and continues into _L a Munch-centric romance that explains his transition from Baltimore frump to NYC cool._

Timing in Life is Everything, Ch.1

--

_The Crab House Restaurant, Baltimore, June 19, 1993 _

She was the kind of woman men noticed… tall, leggy, and blond. She had the classic All-American good looks, the stuff of many an adolescent boy's wet dreams. The bright blue tank top and faded jeans she was wearing were just tight enough to showcase a body that he could easily imagine in a cheerleading uniform or propped seductively in a dorm room bed in _Playboy_'s "Girls of the ACC (or SEC or Big-12 or…)" issue, equal parts youthful innocence and raw sexuality.

She was standing less than ten feet away, chatting animatedly with three other young women. They were waiting for a table in the seafood restaurant he and his partners from the Baltimore Homicide Division frequented on their lunch hour. He was close enough to overhear snatches of their conversation… enough to know they were on their way to New York City. They had apparently just graduated from college and were making the big move to the Big Apple to start new jobs… look for work… become stars of stage and screen. Their youthful enthusiasm was infectious, even to one as cynical as he.

As if she felt his eyes on her, the young woman he was admiring sifted to her left and turned her head to meet his gaze. The impact was like a sledgehammer's blow to his gut. The fact she didn't smirk or turn away in uneasy amusement… a cutting comment made to her companions, didn't register until much later. The fact that the memory of her face lingered on the edge of his thoughts long after they had gone their separate ways insured he had plenty of time to consider the unlikely reactions on both their parts… especially the way she seemed to respond to him on the same visceral level he was feeling. In the years to come, her image often found its way into his fantasies… the erotic promise of her gaze calling out to him in seldom remembered dreams.

A waitress appeared in their midst, her tired request for their smoking preference making her sound old and warn next to their fresh vitality. The intrusion was enough to break the moment… the amused grins of her companions making the object of his interest blush with embarrassment at having been caught staring. Confused green eyes flickered back in his direction to see if he was still watching, a nervous smile lighting her face.

Beau Felton's voice broke into his silent appreciation of the lovely quartet. "Felecia must have cut you off again, Munchkin. You're drooling."

Throwing the other detective a condescending sneer, John retorted, "I'm getting plenty, but if you want to discuss our sex lives, you can regale us with the details of latest bimbo you're banging behind your wife's back."

"Damn, Munch," Stanley Bolander interjected, "those girls are just kids! You're too damned old to be ogling them!"

"Freshly minted college grads, Big Man, so they're legal eye-candy," his much younger partner corrected, "And there's no law against looking. If you're too old to appreciate the sight of nubile young flesh, we need to put you out to pasture… or get you some glasses because that blond is the best looking thing to walk into this dump in years… except for our esteemed colleague of course. Kay's in a class by herself."

"Nice save, Johnny boy," Kay Howard countered. "Next time, try wiping your mouth before you bring my name into the conversation. It bothers me to have you say it with drool dripping off your chin."

"Gets you hot and bothered you mean," he corrected before turning back to watch the four young women walking away to a table near the front of the restaurant. He made no effort to hide his appreciation of the sway of a nicely rounded behind encased in snug denim. Kay's "men are all pigs" retort failed to elicit a response… mainly since he hadn't really heard it.

The blond… /Grace/ he corrected, having overheard one of the girls call her by name, carefully kept her eyes averted, trained on the menu the waitress had thrust into her hands. Having studied the restaurant's selection enough times to know it didn't require that level of focus, he felt a small smile tug at his lips. Grace knew he was still watching and wasn't sure what to make of the tangible chemistry that had sprung to life between them from a mire glance.

Frankly, neither did he. He had a steady girlfriend… one he had no intention of making wife #3. Felecia was convenient… but then she probably felt the same way about him. No, his sex life was adequate if not the stuff of fantasy… nothing too exciting or daring, but available with enough frequency to make it worth hanging onto until something better came along. Instinct warned him that Felecia was close to running out of patience with their arrangement, but John didn't feel sufficiently motivated to make the changes she was demanding to keep their less than stellar status quo going.

Maybe that was why this woman-child fascinated him, he speculated; he knew he would be sleeping alone again in the not too distant future. The ever overly-analytical part of his brain churned this possibility around for a few seconds. It made sense… he was looking for his next 'ex' even as the body of his current 'ex' still filled its required place in his bed most nights. John grin turned predatory as he silently agreed with Kay's assessment… men were pigs.

Hesitant green eyes lifted to meet his. Seeing the uncertainty and confusion he was causing, he felt his smile transform from predatory to reassuring. Something about this woman inspired him to… well, he wasn't sure what she inspired other than pure, raw desire, but he suspected it was more than that. That thought was a bit startling… even a little unsettling.

/Too bad she's just passing through on her way to New York. If she was a local…/

"Yeah, she is hot."

Startled by the unwanted intrusion of Tim Bayliss' voice, he glanced over at the younger man. By any standard, Bayliss was a far better looking man than he was. He was tall, muscular without it being overdone… sweet boy-next-door looks… a gentle manner that played well to most 20-somethings. His fellow detective was studying Grace with the same intensity as he had been.

Looking back in her direction, he was pleased to note that she seemed to be oblivious to Tim's charms. She was still pretending to follow the conversation flowing around her, but he didn't miss the frequent glances coming his way. She had noticed him and was as intrigued as he was.

/Yeah… too bad…/

--

"You've got an admirer, Gracie. He's practically drooling."

Smiling at her friend, Grace refused to give her the satisfaction of looking. "How do you know he's checking me out? He could be scoping out one of you guys."

Debbie Griffin traded a long-suffering look with the other two women in their group. The four had been friends since meeting as freshmen at the Savannah College of Art and Design. It never ceased to amaze them that Grace failed to realize just how stunning she was. She seemed genuinely clueless that she was truly beautiful while they were more likely to be described as pretty or cute. The fact that Grace didn't have a malicious bone in her body and was one of the most loving, giving people they knew only made her more attractive. It also meant she was far too trusting and forgiving than they thought was prudent for a young woman embarking on a new life in the big city.

"Well… the fact he hasn't taken his eyes off of you for the last several minutes was the first clue, Miss Innocent. I think he's a cop," Debbie speculated, pitching her voice so it wouldn't travel to the nearby table.

"Yeah, that guy sitting on the other end of the table is wearing a badge on his belt," Kim Ogola observed, raking Meldrick Lewis' body with her eyes. "He's pretty hot."

"I'll say… but I think the one in the middle is the real hottie," her twin countered, settling on Bayliss. "He had bedroom eyes."

Grinning, Grace whispered, "So… is the guy watching me a hottie or what?"

Carrie Ogola tilted her head in an apparent sign of serious concentration. "Well… I'd say… or what."

"What?"

"Or what," her friend corrected, grinning wickedly. "Not my type, but I think he's yours. You go for the tall, skinny, brooding type… all that repressed passion. You know… the bookish intellectual. Give me a guy with a solid 6-pack and a killer smile who likes to party. Who needs the drama!"

"Yeah, like Steve wasn't all about the drama," Grace retorted, taking a step to her left so she could glance his way without being too obvious she was looking. Ignoring the smirks on her friends' faces, she did her best to appear 'breezy-casual' as she turned her head to the right and… fell into the thrall of a pair of hungry brown eyes.

Grace and her traveling companions had decided to break their trip by having lunch at a seafood place a friend from school had insisted they check-out when they passed through Baltimore on their way to New York. She had accepted an entry level assistant's position with an up-and-coming design house owned by a husband and wife design team, fellow graduates from SCAD. The move… her new job… finding a place for the four of them to rent… her future, those thoughts had occupied her attention for the last six weeks.

The demands of mundane things like food, sleep… packing, had been undertaken with an enthusiastic if somewhat distracted attitude. Romance… or simply flirting with an attractive man hadn't made the cut. She had lost count of the number of times she had ignored the other girls attempts to 'fix her up', claiming it made no sense to start something and then move ten hours away.

The thought of a man, one sitting in a restaurant in Baltimore with whom she would never have a single conversation, didn't seem to warrant any attention beyond the momentary diversion. That she quickly lost track of her surroundings, captured by his gaze should have shocked her deeply. It didn't. It seemed… like destiny… fate… something beyond the ordinary business of daily life.

/It's just like Mom said… when she first saw Daddy… except… I'll never see him again./

Barely registering the teasing comments from her companions, Grace followed the waitress to a table near the front window. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to put the incident out of her mind and be sensible. /He can't be…/

Confused green eyes unwittingly gave into the pull of the brown ones still watching her from across the restaurant. She noted the way his smile seemed to gentle and his gaze became more… caressing than devouring. She knew… though how she knew she couldn't say, that he felt the same inexplicable pull toward her that she felt toward him. It left her feeling sad and incomplete… and yet…

--

_Miami International Airport, Miami, December 10, 1995_

John followed the signs toward the cluster of car rental agencies serving the Miami International Airport. He had been sent by his CO to locate and escort a material witness back to Baltimore for a trial set to begin the following week. State's Attorney Ed Danvers had been worried the man wouldn't show up and Munch had been dispatched to make sure that didn't happen.

After standing in line for half-an-hour, a harried clerk had waved him toward a small queue of people waiting for a shuttle to take them to the parking lot used by the budget rental agency Baltimore City used for all out of town rentals. /Damn… I hope it has air/ he muttered to himself as he read through the papers he had been handed by the agent.

Sighing, John eased the knot of the tie he was wearing and slipped open the top few buttons of his shirt. He had already shed his jacket, the 86 degree weather of south Florida in early December a vivid contrast to the dreary chill of the 44 degree rain he had left behind in Charm City. He was already looking forward to a shower to wash away the film of sweat he could feel trickling down his back.

Sighing again, he acknowledged that would have to wait until after he had made a courtesy call to his counterparts in Miami-Dade to give them a copy of the material witness warrant Danvers had supplied. Giaridello had made it clear he was to alert the locals he was on their turf before attempting to locate his prey… one Bruce Gersten. If he was lucky… and a lifetime's worth of experience warned him not to expect much, he would find Gerten exactly where he was supposed to be and hand him off the locals to hold until his return flight in two days. That would give him a chance to lounge around his motel's pool… get a little sand in his flip-flops, and loose a couple of hundred bucks betting the dogs at the track.

/Yeah, right… that's going to happen/ he silently scoffed. /I hope this hump doesn't turn out to be a real pain in the ass to find… but at least, I'm out of Balto for the next couple of days./

This type of assignment wasn't John's idea of a mini-vacation; it was work, nothing more. He had volunteered in a fit of desperation. His soon to be third ex-wife had been making his life a living hell with incessant phone calls and demands through her lawyer for the rest of his personal property in the settlement. Why he had married her still eluded him… he had known they were mismatched and unsuited for each other from the beginning.

/Shit, the sex wasn't even any good/ he mentally complained. /And Sally's even whinier than Gwen or Nancy ever thought about being. If she has her way, I'll be lucky to still have a pair of boxers left to my name… and I don't own any boxers!!/

The sound of an imperious male voice issuing a rapid-fire string of commands drew his focus away from a scuff mark on the toe of one of his black shoes. A small crowd of people appeared from the midst of the larger throng milling around the waiting area serving that end of the terminal. This group was obviously not using budget cars to get around. They were headed toward the VIP entrance and the large stretch limo waiting just outside the door.

The group was lead by an immaculately dressed man in his mid to late thirties. He reminded John of one of those airbrushed male models in GQ… square-cut jaw, wavy black hair, and features almost too pretty to suit a man. A small gaggle of young men and woman trailed in his wake… talking on mobile phones, scribbling furiously on notepads, or hanging onto his every word as though they expected him to impart the secrets of life… in between orders to confirm dinner reservations and call someone named Jacque.

A woman, more flamboyant than pretty, drifted along at his right side. She was tall and slim… actually, she was just plain skinny. Her features were too sharp, her carriage too stiff, for her to command much attention without the use of flashy clothes to draw the eye. Faint lines were already etched around her mouth and between her eyes as if she spent a lot of time frowning… her unhappiness only partially hidden by an air of forced, world-weary distain. It made her look far older than the man onto whose arm she was desperately clinging.

The distraction of the bright tropical hues of her flowing dress were no match, however, for the beauty of the woman on her other side. John felt his heart skip a beat. It was her… the woman he had seen two years earlier at a seafood restaurant in Baltimore… Grace. Those two years had erased the last of the teen from her face and form. The woman across the lobby from him was just that… all woman.

The simple, but elegant cut of her light-weight wool slacks and silk blouse hinted that her body was more streamline, the lush curves he remembered so vividly blunted by the harsh dictates of New York's demanding world of fashion. John was mildly disappointed by that fact, but the sight of her face more than compensated him for the loss of the fantasy image he had created… her in a University of Maryland cheerleader's uniform. Her features were as breathtaking as he remembered. Pale blond hair framed her delicate face in a shining fall. The florescent lights of the terminal made the flowing mane glow like strands of spun gold… or so it seemed to his hungry gaze.

Once again, the unspoken demand in his eyes seemed to call to her. Pausing just inside the automatic doors, she looked in his direction. He had no trouble pinpointing the exact moment she saw him… or in knowing she remembered their brief, **almost** encounter as keenly as he did. Their gaze held for several long seconds before the man leading the small army reached out to grasp her arm and pull her toward the waiting car.

Even at a distance, he did not miss the irritation in Grace's green eyes… or the simmering fury in the eyes of the other woman. Taking a deep breath, Grace subtly pulled away and moved to stand on the other side of her fuming employer. The other members of the traveling circus exchanged gleeful grins, certain the darling of the design duo was about to make an abrupt exit from their company… at least if the wife had any say in the matter.

Grace paused once again at the door of the limo to look back at him. John had not realized he had moved in her direction… was in fact standing just outside the sliding-glass doors of the terminal. A faint smile lit her face as she started to speak… stopped by a hand grasping her arm from inside the lux car and pulling her inside.

Before he could react, the car pulled away, Grace's face barely visible through the tinted glass of the rear window. She had turned in the seat to watch him… their eyes remained locked until the limo accelerated and disappeared into the swarm of taxis clogging the pick-up area outside the terminal. John stood for several minutes staring in the direction into which the car had disappeared.

Suddenly realizing he was drawing the interested looks of a number of people, he slowly turned and rejoined the queue… a different one since his earlier companions had already left on the last shuttle. John was oblivious to it all… he was still lost in the staggering realization that she remembered him as clearly as he remembered her. Fate seemed to enjoy torturing him with dreams dangled just beyond his reach.

--

7/20/08


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Timing in Life is Everything, Chapter 2

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: _Homicide: Life on the Street_ & _L&O: SVU_; Munch/OFC

Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf or the creators of H:LOTS. Sadly, I don't own them and I won't make a dime off of taking them out to play  
Summary: Destiny has its own agenda… its own time. Begins during _H:LOTS_ and continues into _L a Munch-centric romance that explains his transition from Baltimore frump to NYC cool._

Timing in Life is Everything, Ch. 2

--

_Midtown Manhattan, November 11, 1997_

Grace balanced her huge pocketbook/backpack on the edge of the counter of a newsstand located near the top of the stairs to the subway and began to dig around inside for her change purse. She wanted to buy copies of several of the morning papers to see if any of the larger ones had included anything about the fashion show she and several other struggling designers had staged the night before. Their audience had enthusiastically responded to her offerings… particularly an edgy evening dress that had won her raves. She had blown most of one paycheck on the midnight blue silk she had used for the centerpiece of her collection, but a few missed meals seemed like a small price to pay for the end result.

A handful of critics from some of the smaller, yet influential newspapers and magazines catering to the fashion industry had surrounded her at the reception that followed. She had even had a preliminary discussion with the manufacturer of several trendy clothing lines about the possibility of her doing some freelance work for him. If word of the show spread beyond the limited insider coverage they had received, it might lead to other offers… the possibility of finally being able to make a living from her designs.

Paying for her papers, she stuffed them into her bag to read later. Logic told her that it was all too likely that their small show had been lost in the glitz and glamour of Fashion Week… the spotlight restricted to a handful of major design houses. Since Angelia Fitzgerald had fired her in a moment of unreasoning jealousy… blackballing her in the process, Grace had been forced to take temp jobs to make ends meet until something permanent came along. She had staked most of her saving plus a little she had borrowed from friends on the gamble the show would give her career a much needed boost.

Frankly, the need to get a steady source of income was becoming critical. Kim had moved out of their flat earlier in the summer to live with her boyfriend. Debbie was engaged and would be getting married over the Christmas holidays. She and Carrie were already looking into the possibility of finding a smaller, cheaper place to live… that or finding a couple of new roommates.

Grace hated to be the one making the move so difficult. Carrie had a great job with a major ad agency and could afford a small place of her own. Her friend claimed to prefer having her as a roomie, but Grace was all too aware of the unspoken second reason… she didn't have a permanent job and would be in trouble without her friend's help.

Her current gig was at a small publishing firm working as a receptionist. The pay was adequate to cover her share of expenses… just, but her employer was the worst kind of bastard, petty, vindictive, and manipulative. If nothing else, her first four years in New York had knocked the blinders off of her eyes. She now saw the world from a far more jaded and cynical point of view than she would once have thought possible.

Dodging around a line of people waiting to get into a trendy coffee shop for the requisite cup of overpriced coffee, her thoughts drifted to the phone conversation with her parents the night before. She had called in an upbeat mood, buoyed by her success at the show. That mood hadn't lasted long. Once again, her parents had ruined the moment with their complaints about her refusal to move back to Montana and get married… give them a few grandchildren.

Their constant harping that she had had 'her little fling', but that it was time to admit she didn't have what it took to make the cut in New York stung… cut to the quick. That it echoed her secret fears didn't help. They saw her life in New York as 'a waste of time'… 'a youthful folly' to be 'exorcised from her system'. Their insistence that it was past time for her to grow up and start making 'practical decisions' had quickly turned the pleasant call into yet another argument.

The call had hit bottom when her mother had put her former high school boyfriend on the phone, instructing him to 'talk some sense into her hard head'. If she hadn't been so excited about the success of the show, she never would have called… not on a Wednesday night… never on a Wednesday night. Tad always came for dinner on Wednesday, a habit he had acquired while they had briefly dated.

She had been dismayed to discover he still joined her family for the weekly meal her first day home the summer between her freshman and sophomore years at SCAD. She had assumed he would stop coming once she left for college. In retrospect, she shouldn't have been surprised. He hadn't stopped after they had broken up midway through her junior year in high school… had used the excuse he was a buddy of her older brother to drop by their house and hassle her to get back together with him… or hope to find her alone so he could try to force her to give into his demands.

Tad was two years older than Grace. He had gone to a small college on the other side of the state on a football scholarship, but he somehow managed to make it to McLean on Wednesday night several times each month. A knee injury ended his playing days and he had dropped out of school. She was the only one to be disgusted by his caviler attitude that he hadn't seen any reason to continue his education once he couldn't play ball.

That was one of many reasons she was glad she had broken it off with him… they simply had nothing in common. She wanted to live in a big city and devour all it had to offer... he hated crowds and noise. Tad was made for life in a small town. He craved the stability and comfort found in daily routines… needed the energy he found in the woods and fields surrounding the town. He was born for the outdoors. He wanted a stay-at-home wife and a houseful of kids. While she respected that life, it wasn't for her.

What she didn't respect was his need to control and dominate her like she was property to be owned. Once she was out of McLean, she had finally been able to admit the real reason she had broken up with him… Tad scared her. The night she had lost her virginity had been traumatic, not the tender experience most girls daydreamed about. He had simply refused to take no for an answer and…

It had been years before she was able to accept what had happened; years longer before she was able to call it rape. She had never told anyone but her three closest friends. It was part of the reason they were so protective of her. It still took an effort not to cringe whenever a man touched her… even the most simple of touches. She had only slept with one man during her time at SCAD, the origin of her friends' nickname for her, Miss Innocent. Even now, she kept most men at arm's length.

While her parents didn't know what he had done to her, they did know she didn't want anything to do with him. Still, they insisted, blind… or uncaring of her feelings. Talking to him had not helped the already bad situation with her mother… had in fact made it a lot worse.

That a twenty-nine year old man clung to the delusion that he was still the high school football hero and she his adoring sweetheart was pretty pathetic in her opinion. That both he and her parents thought he had the right to tell her anything, much less how to live her life, was appalling. Despite every rebuff she could offer… despite all evidence to the contrary, Tad steadfastly believed she would soon move back to McLean… no doubt defeated and grateful for his indulgence of 'her little dreams'. He firmly believed they would get married and have the expected 2.5 children… maybe a few more for good measure.

He had their lives all planned out. He would take over management of the family hardware store when his father retired in a few years. Grace would keep the books and help out whenever he wanted to take off to go hunting or fishing with his buddies… probably using the argument he had been patient in waiting for her to get 'that damned fashion bullshit out of your system' so she owed him.

In his mind, she would be a Sunday school teacher and make cupcakes for school bake sales. Her degree from SCAD could be put to some practical use when she made dresses for their daughters. The fact that none of that was what SHE wanted seemed irrelevant to him or her family. Only her older brother, Tad's one time best friend, seemed to accept her decision. Grace often wondered what had happened to bring about Doug's change of heart, but he refused to answer when she asked.

As for Tad's plans, her parents persisted in feeding his beliefs because his matched their own. She didn't love him and never would, but they simply refused to accept that. Grace wasn't 'saving herself' for him. It infuriated her that he seemed to think she was, especially given what he had done to her. The call had ended on a tense, stilted note when she had told him it was time he moved on and found someone that wanted the same things he did. She had made a point of stressing the fact that she had moved on in ALL ways long ago.

Sadly, it wasn't the first time she had said that to him, but she had been angry this time… less concerned about causing a riff with her parents over her 'shabby treatment of such a sweet young man'. Her parents' inability to accept that she was never moving back to Montana… would never have the big church wedding with Rev. Adams presiding was getting old. She had no interest in wearing her mother's vision of a fairy tale gown… the type Grace considered an overdone white 'meringue horror'. Bridesmaids in hideous lime green… or worse yet, pink taffeta Bo Peep gowns weren't part of her plans for the future.

Marriage? Maybe… one day… if the right man came along, but her wedding would be a small intimate celebration, not a Charles and Di Extravaganza. Children remained a big question mark for her. She had yet to decide if she wanted any… had resolved to wait and see if she found Mr. Right first. **IF** she did, **maybe** one, but maybe not. Only time would tell.

Her parents refused to accept that she wanted a different life for herself, one they didn't like or understand. The length of time between phone calls was already growing. At their current rate, they would soon be talking only on birthdays and holidays… visits reduced to the infrequent trips home for Thanksgiving. That thought saddened her, but not enough to consider relenting and giving into their demands.

Sighing with frustration, Grace stopped at the edge of the curb as the light changed before she could cross. Glancing at her watch, she gritted her teeth. She would have to sprint the rest of the way if she was going to make it to work on time and spare herself a bitchy lecture from her boss, the witch king of the publishing world.

A cab screeched to a halt in the lane to her left, its driver edging the car into the crosswalk as he waited impatiently for the light to change. As it crept forward, Grace found her gaze shifting to the occupants of the backseat. For the third time in her life, she felt inexplicable jolt of total awareness as she found herself staring into a familiar pair of brown eyes.

/It's him! How…/

Before either could react, the light changed and, once again, the moment was over without either having a chance to speak. The memory of his shocked, heated gaze lingered in her thoughts for days. The fact that she had never felt so aware of another person haunted many a sleepless nights… subconsciously undermining any attempt she made to form a lasting relationship with another man. She had no way of knowing her mystery man was having the same problems.

--

_Apartment of Grace Doherty, Midtown, New York, February 14, 1998_

Grace flipped through the pages of the current _TV Guide_ looking for something interesting to watch. Carrie was out of town on a business trip and she had finished her work for the day. Having recently broken off a short-lived relationship with a friend of a friend of her friend Kim's husband, Grace was content to spend a quite evening at home.

A show listed for one of New York City's hundreds of small cable channels caught her attention. It was titled "BACK PAGE NEWS: Life and Homicide on The Mean Streets of Baltimore". The listing said the documentary was the work of up and coming young filmmaker J.H. Brodie, the product of a two year stint he had worked as the videographer for the Homicide Division at the Baltimore City Police.

The words Baltimore City Police held her gaze, the memory of a pair of warm brown eyes replacing the printed text. Grabbing up her remote, she quickly found the channel indicated in the Guide. She had only a few minutes to wait before the show began. Something made her reach for a blank tape and jam it into the VCR so that she could record the program.

An hour later she turned off the recording function. Grace felt no small measure of shock. He had been there… the man from the restaurant… from Miami… from the cab. His name was John Munch… Det. John Munch. His voice echoed in her ear, its tones equally soothing and arousing to her thinking.

Without giving it much thought, she rewound the tape and watched the show a second time, fast-forwarding the tape to the places where he appeared. The next day she would be glad Carrie had been out of town. She was hardily relieved not to have to explain why she has stayed up much of the night watching and re-watching those images.

As she dressed for the day, the same question kept replaying in her thoughts… what, if anything should she do with the fact she now knew his name? John Munch… Det. John Munch.

--

_Apartment of John Munch, Baltimore, July 17, 1999_

John paused for a moment, the last of the glasses from the cabinet wrapped in newspaper and stored in a cardboard box for the move. He had never bothered to unpack most of the boxes he had filled in anticipation of moving into Billie Lou's apartment after they were married. Their union had fallen apart after only one night and he had moved back into the dingy one-bedroom dive he had called home since divorcing Sally with most of the boxes still clogging the hall and living room.

Grabbing up the remote to his TV, he dropped down onto the arm of the sofa and began to channel surf in hopes of finding something to distract his thoughts from the depressing mess he had made of his life. /Damn… four marriages and not one worked. Maybe it is me. I guess Mom's right… I am a screw-up./

The swift end of his marriage to wife #4 had made life in Baltimore untenable. Billie Lou refused to quit working at the Waterfront… was demanding half of his life saving and a cut of his share in the bar. Stu Gharty had taken the Sergeant's exam and passed… had plans to go for Lieutenant in a year or so he claimed. That John had been forced to work with the man that his wife was screwing was bad enough, but to have him promoted over him… no, retirement had been the only option.

Ending his tenure with BCPD hadn't really resolved anything. His life was still in freefall. John was only 46. He wasn't ready to spend his days sitting around the park playing chess with the other retirees in his neighborhood and he didn't have the money to move to a better one where there may have been more options. He was all but estranged from his family. He had lost a few of his closest friends in the fallout over the end of his marriage. Baltimore no longer seemed like home.

Those realizations had lead to his decision to look for another job with another police force... after all, being a cop was in his blood. John had briefly lived with his grandparents in the Lower East Side of New York while his mother tried to put her life back together after his father's suicide. An opening in the NYPD's SVU had seemed like a good option. He knew the City and had family… even a few friends there already. He had applied hoping a move to the Big Apple might revitalize his floundering life.

John paused his channel search on a runway fashion show. Frankly, he wasn't sure what had motivated him to stop on this particular program. He had never been all that attracted to most of the models that filled the pages of magazines or gazed down at him from billboards… to skinny for his tastes. Most of them looked like feminized boys to his way of thinking. He knew that was rather hypocritical of him given his own overly thin frame, but he rationalized that with a simple 'a man likes what a man likes' excuse. He had a preference for curvy, buxom women. Billie Lou was, if nothing else, proof of that.

Lifting the remote to resume his surfing, the breath was knocked from his lungs. There… in the middle of a crowd of spectators was 'his woman… his Grace'. The camera lingered on her face a little longer than was the norm, suggesting the cameraman found her as lovely a sight as he did. She turned slightly and looked toward the lens. Hundreds of miles and a tape delay, but he still had the sensation of falling into her vivid green eyes.

The shot changed to showcase another leggy, over-coiffed model strutting down the isle in a ridiculous bit of fluff. John slide down from the arm of the sofa and spent the next twenty minutes watching the show, avidly searching the crowd for her face. He was rewarded with a few more brief glimpses. It bothered him more than he knew it should that the cameraman obviously found her more interesting than the models or the cluster of celebs clogging the front rows around the stage.

Still, he didn't complain since it gave him the opportunity to study her face for changes since he had last seen her on a street corner in Midtown Manhattan. Lennie Brisco had given him hell for his fumbling attempts to get out of the cab in time to intercept her. He had spent the rest of his time in the City working the Janaway murder searching the crowds in hopes of finding her again.

When the show ended, it occurred to him that he should have put a tape in the VCR and recorded the show. That would give him the chance…

A new thought came quickly on the heels of the first, crowding it to one side for later consideration. He was moving to New York. Somehow seeing the show… seeing her, made his impending move seem like the best decision he had ever made. Yes, New York was a very big place, but fate seemed to be giving him a shove. He had no idea why their paths had crossed more than once or why they had yet to meet. His logical, analytical mind told him he was being foolish to hope for something from the little that had transpired between them, but… he did.

Rising to go back to his packing, a small smile brightened his face. He was a man with a mission… a mission whose time had come.

--

7/20/08


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Timing in Life is Everything, Chapter 3

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: _Homicide: Life on the Street_ & _L&O: SVU_; Munch/OFC

Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf or the creators of H:LOTS. Sadly, I don't own them and I won't make a dime off of taking them out to play  
Summary: Destiny has its own agenda… its own time. Begins during _H:LOTS_ and continues into _L a Munch-centric romance that explains his transition from Baltimore frump to NYC cool._

Timing in Life is Everything, Ch. 3

--

_Hudson University Hospital Emergency Room, April 8, 2003_

"Where's the woman you brought in for treatment, McAvoy?" John demanded, scanning the waiting area of the ER for the rape victim he had been sent to interview. No one in the crowded room seemed to fit the description Elliot Stabler had given him when he called from the crime scene. Apparently, their victim had been beaten severely and had been too traumatized to tell them anything. A second victim had coded during transport and had been rushed into surgery upon arrival. Neither woman had been identified at the scene.

The young uniform officer looked up to meet the irritated gaze of the SVU detective. He had been using the opportunity to chat up the pretty nurse that handled the admissions desk and hadn't been paying any attention to the victim he had been sent to protect. Seeing the building anger in Munch's dark brown eyes, the younger cop quickly straightened and scanned the room for his charge… only to find her missing.

"I… she was over there a few minutes ago," he offered, knowing how lame that sounded. "I only took my eyes off…"

Ignoring the younger man's attempt to minimize his mistake, John looked over at the nurse. "Is she in one of the exam rooms?"

Knowing that she was just as guilty of neglecting her duties as the cute officer, she quickly scanned the admission's computer for information on who was where in the treatment area. "I… Ms. Doherty's name hasn't been called yet. She's next up."

"Next up? That helps a hell of a lot if we can't find her! Where in the hell is she?" Munch demanded. He and his partners had been working with only minimal sleep for days in the wake so several unrelated attacks and his temper was frayed. This was the sixth new case to fall into their laps this week… and it was only Wednesday.

Trading a nervous look with the nurse, McAvoy offered, "I can look around for her, Det. She probably just went to the lady's room. She kept saying she wanted to wash up…"

"Wash-up… as in wash away evidence of her attacker?" Munch bit out. "Don't they teach you rookies anything at the Academy anymore? You never leave a vic alone until they have been handed over to a nurse or doctor. They're too traumatized to be thinking clearly. If we've lost evidence because you weren't doing your job, you'll be walking a beat until you retire after 20. Get someone to check the restrooms and I'll check the halls…"

A voice behind him broke into his rant. An elderly man was standing several paces away, listening to their exchange. "Are you looking for the young lady that came in with the other policeman?"

"Yes, we are. Did you see where she went?" Munch asked, hoping to get his investigation back on track.

"No… but she asked to use my cell phone," he reported. "I heard her talking to someone… named Carrie or Candy, I think. She asked her to come get her. I thought she meant after she saw the doctor… she was hurt real bad. She left while I was up getting a cup of coffee."

Groaning inwardly, John prompted, "How long ago was that?"

Wrinkling his brow, the man looked up at the clock behind the admissions desk. "Maybe… ten, twenty minutes ago. I wasn't gone long. My wife broke her wrist in a fall and I didn't want to be out of pocket in case they needed me."

"OK… thanks for your help." Sending McAvoy a furious glare, Munch added, "I need your permission to get your cell phone records so I can see if we can trace her friend. Ms… did you say her name was Doherty?"

Nodding, the nurse supplied, "Yes… Grace Doherty."

A ripple of raw energy skittered down his spine. "Ms. Doherty needs medical assistance and we need to talk to her about what happened at that shop."

Shoving the puzzling sense of awareness aside assuming it was just exhaustion, John pulled out his own phone. "Cap… we've got a problem. Our vic has done a Houdini and…"

--

"Nobody's home at the apartment leased to Carrie Ogola and Grace Doherty, Cap," John reported, the feeling that he was missing something important still niggling at the back of his mind… some key point he had yet to connect to the investigation. He knew he was too exhausted to make much sense of his subconscious attempt to connect the dots. Once he finished his report, he was going home to catch a few hours sleep. Maybe things would be clearer in the morning.

"No one at her building was able to tell you where they went?" Cragen demanded.

"No one remembered seeing them come back." Sighing, John added, "I've left my card on the door and with the building super in case they return before morning. If not, I'll start looking for her then."

"Elliot and Fin just called in with the latest from the scene. Patrols responded to a call two blocks over at about the same time as the 911 came in about our vics," Cragen offered, his voice thick and heavy from lack of sleep. "Several young men heard a woman screaming for help… went to her aid. They found a man raping a woman in the back of the store in the East Village."

"That's something," John replied. "Can they ID the bastard?"

"No need," Cragen responded. "Two of the men stayed to help the women… the others took off after their attacker. They chased him out of the back…down the street. He tried to elude them by ducking into the subway. He tripped and fell half-way down the stairs… broke his neck in the fall. He was DOA at the scene."

"Sounds like we have our doer," John speculated, sagging in relief that one less monster needed to be rounded up. "We got a name?"

"Yeah, Tad Woodson. His drivers' license listed his address as McLean, Montana."

--

"Grace isn't here, Det.," the woman that answered the door offered. "After I picked her up at the hospital, we went to a friend's apartment in Chelsea. She was too freaked out to come back here. Gracie was afraid that bastard would follow her here and finish what he started."

"I need to talk to her, Ms. Ogala," John insisted. "The other woman injured in the attack hasn't regained consciousness and we need to know what happened to them."

Raking a weary hand through her hair, Carrie admitted, "I know. Gracie called the hospital last night, but they wouldn't tell her much. Is Judy going to make it?"

"We don't know… hopefully, but she barely made it to the ER," John admitted. "I need to talk to Ms. Doherty and…"

"You can't…"

Breaking into whatever denial she had been about to offer, Munch demanded, "I can and will, Ms. Ogala. I'm investigating a brutal attack that left one woman in the hospital fighting for her life and another badly beaten and raped. I don't have time…"

"You didn't let me finish," Carrie inserted. "Grace isn't in New York for you to question. She's moved to Paris… her flight left JFK late last night. She couldn't wait to get as far from that bastard as she could, so she managed to exchange her ticket for an earlier flight and just go. He's been hassling her for weeks… ever since he found out about her move. He kept saying he was going to kill her if she didn't come back to Montana with him."

Closing his eyes in frustration at this new complication, John exclaimed, "Paris? She left the country after being beaten and raped? She needs to see a doctor. How could…"

"She was terrified, Det.," Carrie supplied. "She was frantic to get as far from Tad Woodson…"

"Tad Woodson?" he repeated. "How did she know him?"

Sighing, Carrie waved John over toward the couch in the small apartment. "They grew up together out west… a small town in Montana… McLean. He was a friend of her big brother's and she dated him for a little while in her junior year of high school. Bastard raped her when she was 16, but she never told anyone… just broke up with him. He's never accepted that or that she wouldn't marry him… her parents made it even worse by encouraging him. I told her to tell them, but… Grace turned her back on them all and made a new life for herself here after college."

"So… how did he find out she was moving?" John asked, jotting down notes in his pad.

"She sent her mother a birthday card and included a line about the move," Carrie replied. "I guess her mom told him. He showed up here a week later and has been hassling her ever sense. We called the cops, but…"

Seeing she wasn't going to say more, John nudged, "But…?"

"She got a restraining order, but he was ignoring it," she reported. "The cops picked him up after he tried to grab her night before last… we were hoping he wouldn't make bail until after she had left the country. I guess he must have gotten out quicker than we hoped."

"He had been threatening her?"

"Yeah… said if he couldn't have her, then nobody else would," Carrie offered, her fury at the attitude underlying that threat giving her voice bite. "He treated her like she was his property and her folks supported him over her! I told her to wait until she got to Paris to tell them, but… Grace is still too trusting even after living in New York for almost ten years."

"Did she tell you Woodson was the one that attacked her and Judy Sherman yesterday?"

"Yeah, it was him. She was so scared… knew she had barely escaped with her life," her friend confirmed. "I know she should have stuck around, but… she was terrified, Det."

Nodding, John relented. "We'll need to have someone talk to her in Paris so we can get her statement for the record. She doesn't have to worry about Tad Woodson hurting her ever again…"

"She's heard that before…"

"He's dead, Ms. Ogala," John inserted, watching the shock wash over her features. "He tripped and fell down the subway stairs fleeing the men that came to her rescue. He broke his neck in the fall. He won't hurt her or anyone else ever again."

Sagging, Carrie admitted, "I know this sounds bad to say… but I'm relieved. I was scared he would come here looking for her and… I was scared of him too."

Patting her shoulder, John rose to leave. "I need her cell phone number so I can contact her and arrange for someone to take her statement."

"Sure… but can I give her a call first and let her know about Tad? It will take a big weight off of her shoulders," the young woman asked.

"OK," John agreed. Looking over at a framed picture on the mantel, John felt it pull him over. Walking over he picked it up to study. "Is that…"

The floor under his feet seemed to shift as the faces in the picture came into clear focus. The four young women in the picture were all too familiar. It had captured the moment four young friends had left college for the last time to start a new life in New York. His Grace waved back at him from the center of the group… her face young and innocent like he remembered from that chance encounter in the seafood restaurant.

--

Her voice sounded exactly like he remembered, a husky quality giving it depth. Taking a deep breath in hopes of steadying his emotions, he began. "Hello, Ms. Doherty. My name is Det. John Munch, SVU."

A gasp on the other side of the phone line made him hesitate. Worried, he asked, "Ms. Doherty… are you in pain?"

A soft, overly emotional voice whispered, "John Munch… Det. John Munch?"

Puzzled… and yet he knowing exactly why she was asking, John agreed. "Yes."

"Did… did you once work in Baltimore?"

Perhaps… a part of him and actually been expecting the question. He had, consciously or subconsciously, been trying to find her for years… since moving to New York. On a certain level, it didn't surprise him that, when he finally did, she would be beyond his reach yet again… for now at least.

"Yes… yes, I did… Grace."

--

_Apartment of John Munch, Hudson Heights Neighborhood, New York City, April 11, 2003_

John's fingers lay motionless on the keyboard of his laptop. He was unsure if he wanted to open himself up to the hurt that could come from hitting the send button for the email message he had just written. He had spoken to Grace twice more after their brief conversation that morning… he in her former New York apartment and Grace in her new flat in Paris.

Those calls had largely been all business… well, for the most part. The email he was considering sending wasn't about her case or his need to make sure all of the loose ends in the investigation had been resolved. His message was strictly a personal note to a…

There… that was the point that kept him from sending it. He knew it was a stretch to call her a friend and everything else seemed far too much like wishful thinking. John didn't want her to think of him as Det. Munch, the cop that handled her rape case. He wanted a lot more and experience at SVU had taught him that she needed time to heal. Besides, the legacy of four failed marriages and numerous affairs had confirmed he wasn't a natural at relationships under the best of circumstances. He was a damned fine cop, but a lousy date as he had once told a departmental shrink.

He knew sending a message that smacked of a personal agenda so soon after her attack may repel her more than advance his cause… but he didn't want her to feel he had abandoned her now that he had finally found her… or at least found out her last name. John wanted her to know he was only a keystroke away and that he was worried about her… that he cared, even if it made no sense to anyone but him that he cared about someone he had technically never met.

With that limited intent firmly in place in his thoughts, he carefully reread his message to see if he still wanted to send it.

_Bonsoir__. _

_Before you __get too impressed with my French, I should warn you I only remember bits and pieces of my high school lessons. I ended up taking French because the Spanish teacher said I sounded like my shoes hurt when I tried to speak Spanish. I transferred to Madam Dubois' more nurturing care later that same day. I'm pretty sure my lame attempts at French weren't much better. _

_I can hold my own in Russian, Greek, or Yiddish, but__ those weren't options at my school… to the regret of my mother. But, back to French… don't you love the internet and the ability to look up translations at the touch of a few keys?! So if you feel inclined to respond in French, I'll muddle through._

_Well, e__nough of that. _

_I hope you are getting settled into your new place and can finally relax a little bit. How are you feeling? I hesitated asking, but I've been worried about you. Will you have a few days to get acclimated __and recover before you start your new job?_

_By the way, __what will you be doing? Paris seems a good place to do a lot of things… or so I imagine. I always dreamed of living in a little flat over a small bistro… walking the streets absorbing the scenes of Parisian life before closeting myself behind closed doors to write the next great American novel. OK, maybe the tales of a street-tough police detective…_

_Speaking of which, __I guess by now you're wondering why I'm writing this message. I don't have a clean, simple answer, Grace. It's just that our paths seem to keep crossing and I don't want to have this crossing end like the others… no chance to talk and get to know each other. _

_Does that sound creepy and strange? If it does, be honest and I'll leave you alone. We have an ocean between us, so you don't have to worry I'll __become a nuisance or camp out on your doorstep. That's the last thing I'd do even if you were still here in the City. I just want to know if you're interested in getting to know each other through emails. Nothing more for now… just talk._

_Please be honest with me and I'll abide by your decision. In any case, please let me know how you're doing. I really am worried about you. You needed to see a doctor that night. You may need to see one now. OK?_

_B__onne nuit for now._

_John_

Taking a deep breath, he let his thumb right clink the key next to the touchpad…

--

_Flat of Grace Doherty, Paris, April 14, 2003_

Grace took a sip of the tea her landlady had insisted she drink… one that would sooth and restore her after the ordeal of earlier in the week. She had ended up spending her second and third nights in France in the hospital… internal wounds Tad had inflicted had become infected and she had collapsed on the sidewalk in front of her new apartment building. Madame David had been fusing over her ever since she had arrived back at the flat after being released that morning.

The assault and rape had been but the first of the blows to her mind and body over the past week. A round of strong antibiotics had zapped her limited strength and she had slept for most of the past 48 hours as the infection, the trauma, and the jet-lag had wiped her out. The angry messages left on her voice mail by both hers and Tad's mothers had been the final straw. They both seemed to think she was responsible for his death... neither seemed to blame him for his attack on her or poor Judy.

After reassuring Carrie, Kim, and Debbie she was OK, Grace had turned off her cell phone and not taken any calls. She rationalized it was better to ignore the problems waiting for her back in the US until she was strong enough to handle the strain. The distance between her and McLean had never been so wide, physically and emotionally.

Sighing, she grudgingly turned on her phone and watched it seek a signal. Once it had locked onto a tower, Grace began to listen to the messages that had built up over the last 48 hours. Making a mental note to call or email her friends, she quickly flipped through the ones they had left. It was a tremendous relief to hear that Judy was awake, if unable to recall how she had been injured. The doctors were confident she would recover after she had completed the therapy they had planned for her friend.

Two more messages from her mother were soon deleted, the tears they inspired dashed listlessly from her cheeks. He older brother had left a long rambling apology… his guilt at failing to protect his little sister obvious. That one she saved… it would take some time for her to process it before she would be able to figure out how to respond. Doug had failed her, but he seemed to be the only member of her family willing to admit it and offer an apology. That meant a lot… but it was just too soon to deal with him.

Her grandparents… Grammy Sue, her mother's mother and Papa George and Mama Kate, her paternal grandparents, had all called. Their love and worry settled her… grounded her as it always did. Their messages reminded her she did have a family to support her, a comfort she sorely needed. She would call them back when it was evening their time and assure them she would be OK.

A call from her new business partner was full of friendly and helpful advice, all she could expect from someone she didn't know all that well. The hospital had called to make sure she was taking her meds and to remind her of a follow-up appointment the next morning. Finally, she had a handful of messages from business contacts wanting to discuss plans or seek her approval on a particular issue, all thankfully oblivious to the attack.

Grace grimaced as she considered the term 'attack'. /Is assault or rape any better?/ Deciding they weren't, she admitted she was glad she wouldn't have to use any of them in a trial. Tad was dead and he could no longer hurt her. Her fear was too fresh for her to have any regrets at feeling anything but relief at the news he had died fleeing capture. He was gone… that was all that mattered at the moment.

Thoughts of Carrie's call with the news of his death lead her to the voice she had been trying to silence… his voice… John Munch. She had given up hope of ever seeing him again. Once, in the months after she had watched the documentary about the homicide division in Baltimore, she had called his old station on a whim hoping to finally talk to him. It had been a disappointment to be told he no longer worked there.

It had never entered her mind he might have moved to New York… taken a new job with the NYPD. That he worked for SVU, was the one that responded to the call about her case… /yes, case… much better than rape or assault/ was nothing short of stunning. The way their lives kept crossing was a little… fated seemed the only word that fit.

It hurt to consider she finally had the chance to meet him and it had been through the worst tragedy of her life. That he had finally called and an ocean lay between them… fate was cruel. That thought had replayed in her head each of the subsequent times he had called… about the case… only about the case. It had haunted her as she lay in bed, too weak to get up and find a diversion to her thoughts.

Sighing, she set her phone aside with a firm resolve to return a few of the calls later that day. Spotting her laptop, she silently debated whether or not to check her emails. Realizing she probably had a lot of them to sort through, she decided it was best to finish what she had started. The mess she had fled was following her and she needed to see if there was anything that needed an immediate response. With that thought, she opened the case and quickly setup her connections.

Her yahoo account was jammed with several hundred messages. Ignoring the option to connect to the IM feature, she began to flip through the list in a half-hearted manner. The name in the middle of the second page made her heart skip painfully… John Munch.

Her hands were trembling as she tapped the touchpad to open his email. The tension that had been building between her shoulder blades began to ease as she read the rambling message. It was clear he was as unsure of her reaction to him as she was to his. That thought bolstered her spirits.

Clicking reply, she began…

--

7/20/08


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Timing in Life is Everything, Chapter 4

Author: Sorsha711  
Fandom/Pairing: _Homicide: Life on the Street_ & _L&O: SVU_; Munch/OFC

Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations  
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to Dick Wolf or the creators of H:LOTS. Sadly, I don't own them and I won't make a dime off of taking them out to play  
Summary: Destiny has its own agenda… its own time. Begins during _H:LOTS_ and continues into _L a Munch-centric romance that explains his transition from Baltimore frump to NYC cool._

Timing in Life is Everything, Ch 4

--

_Apartment of John Munch, Hudson Heights Neighborhood, New York City, October 15, 2003_

John's craggy features still bore faint traces of a smile as he closed the door to his apartment behind him. Liv had been at her most persistent that day, determined to fix him up with a friend of hers. He had seen the lady in question and, had things been different, he would have jumped at the chance. His refusal had baffled his partners and he knew it had probably added to their growing worry he had given up on life.

The truth of the matter, as was often the case, was far too complicated for him to easily explain. Since the day he had come home to find a reply from Grace to his email, he had spent most of his nights 'instant messaging' with her until the late hour drove her to bed. They had even splurged on a couple of long phone calls, carefully spaced over the last six months like a store of the best chocolates… something to be savored and enjoyed.

John was sure his partners would find it strange, it not alarming, to know he had begun a long-distance relationship… of sorts, with a woman over fifteen years his junior that lived in Europe and who had been one of their victims. Their odd history wasn't something he wanted to try and explain to anyone. Most of the time, it didn't make much sense to him and he had lived it.

What he did know was he was enjoying the opportunity to get to know her by the novel use, at least for him, of an email courtship. They had been able to discuss issues that really mattered to them, expressing opinions with the candor that only the written word allowed. They didn't have to pull punches because they were reacting to a facial expression or a tone of voice. They had promised to be completely honest with each other and that had ensured that they had gotten to know each other on deeper levels than either had ever known with anyone else.

The internet allowed them to debate a wide, often wild, range of topics with ease… if one of them demanded proof of a point, the other spent a few minutes finding it on the net and added the link to the next message. John was secretly pleased that he had turned her into a fellow conspiracy enthusiast. They both agreed that the term 'nut' wasn't fair and had been first applied by those either scared or challenged by the theories discussed.

It had come as something of a surprise how much of their daily lives they had begun to share. He told her about cases… up to a point and discussed his colleagues with affectionate honesty. She told him about her plans for the new design house she and her partner had started… she was the design talent and he had the head for business. Getting a new line established was a monumental undertaking and she was working fourteen and fifteen hour days. Ten years of building a rep as a designer for other labels had put her into the position to break out on her own, but she was paying the price in the hours the endeavor demanded.

He still didn't know all that much about high fashion, but he did know his wardrobe had changed for the better in recent months. John had always wanted a distinctive style… like his boyhood ideal Johnny Staccato. He had found a DVD of the show, pleased to reconnect to his first role model. A copy of the DVD had traveled across the Atlantic to Grace and she had been inspired.

Staccato wore black suits, listened to jazz, and had a string of beautiful women hanging on his arm. John already loved jazz and Grace was the only beautiful woman he wanted… but black seemed to be the obvious choice for his new style. Grace had seemed to enjoy designing him a look and had even directed him to a tailor to make the suits… had found him great material at cost. He had enjoyed his 'redefinition' as much as she had. A men's ware line for her new house, with his new duds as the prototypes, had been the result.

Gone were the white dress shirts that had once been the staple of his Baltimore work wear… the ones with the short-sleeves had been the first to go. Cotton, wool, linen… natural fibers had pushed out the man-made blends in his closet. He now sported tailored suits in dark colors, trendy dress shirts in matching hues, and a pair of dark glasses that allowed him to hide his eyes from casual observation. They added to the mystic he now exuded. He knew he had never looked better and he owed it to Grace… Grace and her fashionista friends.

Tossing his coat onto the back of the couch, he flicked on his computer before shrugging off his jacket. It joined his coat. His silk tie… this one hand sown by Grace as a birthday gift, completed the pile. He would sort them out later once he had checked to see if he had any messages. Priorities were, after all, priorities. It was already early morning in Paris and Grace did need to sleep sometime.

Walking into the kitchen, he pulled a couple of cartons of leftover Chinese out of the frig and dumped them onto a plate to microwave. Grabbing a beer, he wandered back to his laptop and took a seat before the small screen. Yahoo's IM login had barely cleared when his first message popped up.

_Grace: I thought you'd never get home tonight! Major disaster today! The special order silk for the spring collection came in this a.m. and half if it was ruined. Some idiot spilled something corrosive on the package! _

John sighed, sharing her frustration. He knew how important the spring show was for her new company and the silk she had ordered was for several of her most important pieces. On a selfish note, he knew she was committed to living in Paris for a long as it took to get the house established. Once the line was up and running, she could split her time between there and New York. Until then, his courting would be limited to the virtual world… and he was ready for a little real world application.

_John: Damn! Can they get you a replacement in time?_

_Grace: I spent all afternoon with the shipping company… bastard I spoke to first tried to put me off and avoid the claim, but I'll be damned if I let that happen! We have big tied up in that shipment! _

_John: So… you set him straight?_

_Grace: WEG!! No, but his boss did!_

_John: LOL. Can you get a new shipment in time?_

_Grace: Dramatic sigh!! Just… but here's the problem. I've been planning a surprise trip to NYC for Christmas/New Years. New shipment won't arrive until then. I can't leave until I see it and know it's the right stuff._

/Damn! She was coming home and…/

_John: Damn!! I understand, but it would have been nice having you here._

_Grace: Glad you feel that way. Up for an alternative plan?_

_John: Lecherous grin Lay it on me baby._

_Grace: Lay what on you, Det.?? flutters eyelashes_

_John: I have several suggestions, but let's hear your plan and I'll adapt._

_Grace: Oooh, a man of action!! Got to love that!_

_John: The plan… expectantly watching screen_

_Grace: I emailed a travel agent friend to cancel my flight/travel. She wrote back… can get me a partial refund and apply it to a ticket __**from**__ JFK __**to**__ Paris for 12/20 to1/4. It's soooo cheap… only 29 more than what I have already paid, so only 239. I'll loose the rest anyway unless we can work this out. Can you come to Paris for a visit? You can crash here, so no hotel. _

John felt his heartbeat kick into overdrive. Fly to Paris for the holidays! Spend the holidays in Paris… with Grace!! And it would only cost him 240 for a ticket!

_John: Hell yes, I can come! Or I can if Cragen approves letting me have the time off! I'm due a vacation and I have the hours! Give me your friend's email address and I'll book the flight!_

John frowned as a quick response failed to come back to his last message.

_John: Grace? You still there?_

_Grace: HUGE happy grin You're booked. I IM'ed my friend as soon as you said yes! Confirmation is back and it's a go! YEAH!! _

_John: Really?? That was too easy!_

_Grace: Got to love it when a plan comes together! Do you have a current passport?_

_John: No, but I can do that this week! Send me the info…_

--

_R__oissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, December 20, 2003_

Grace had arrived at the airport well in advance of the time John's plane was due to land. She wanted to freshen-up just before he arrived. She knew it wasn't really necessary… was perhaps a bit silly, but the attack earlier in the year had resurrected old feelings of inadequacy… of being damaged and unclean. She had grappled with similar emotions after the first time Tad had raped her. The second time had proving just as hard to comprehend and accept.

John had helped reassure her… told her it was natural for rape survivors to experience a wide range of emotions after an attack. He had gotten her to admit how she was feeling… had urged her to get counseling to help her cope. Those sessions had helped her regain some of her confidence, but his steady support mattered more than the clinical, all be it helpful advice of her therapist. Still, their first 'real' meeting meant too much to her to take anything for granted… a final pep talk in front of a mirror had seemed like a good idea.

She was the classic 'white-knuckled flyer', so it was something of a relief that John was the one making the trip. She tended to drive her seatmates crazy with her fidgeting and sighing on a long flight… unless she remembered to get a prescription for Valium from her doctor. She never took drugs if she could avoid them, but she had long since decided a long-flight was not the time to stand on principle.

In any case, Grace wasn't quite ready to go back to New York and face the demons that had caused her to flee to Paris. She knew she was hiding… that it was cowardly, but she simply didn't care. John was coming to see her… understood why she had run and didn't hold it against her. Besides, she had a reprieve from another transatlantic flight and that mattered a lot at this point with an unavoidable flight sometime in the coming year looming on the horizon.

Grace had already received a certified letter from Judy Sherman's lawyer informing her that she would be required to return and testify at the law suit she had filed against Tad's estate. While he would never have to stand before a jury to be held accountable for his crimes, her friend needed the monetary settlement to help defray the costs of her ongoing medical treatment and Judy deserved her support. Tad's family was fighting the suit, clinging to the delusion their son was the wronged, innocent victim of a vindictive harpy (i.e. Grace). The trial promised to get ugly and she was already dreading both it and the flight back to the states.

Her relationship with her parents had been completely destroyed in the weeks that had followed the attack. Some things once said can never be taken back… some betrayals were too profound to be forgiven. Despite the repeated attempts of both her grandparents and her brother, her parents had insisted on blaming her for what had happened… even after Doug had confessed that Tad had told him about the first time he had raped Grace during a drunken night spent out with friends.

Doug and his friends had beaten Tad bloody, but no one had ever told her parents or the police what had provoked the incident. Tad had simply refused to press charges… had actually come off as the good guy for refusing to send his one-time best friend to jail. Until the whole ugly story came out, most people in McLean thought Doug had taken exception to Tad's 'wandering eye for the ladies' while he waited for Grace to get her 'design star' dreams out of her system. The town had been divided over his death… until other girls had begun to come forward with stories of his abusive treatment of them. Only the Dohertys and the Woodsons now thought he was the innocent victim.

She and Doug had spoken several times since then. Her brother's repeated attempts to apologize… his confession he had thought she was safe from the other man as long as she lived far away from McLean had helped ease the strain. He and his family were planning to visit her next summer… bringing their grandparents along for the trip. It had been a blessing to have their support and love even if her parents' behavior cut to the quick.

Sighing, she watched as a huge plane descended from the low-hanging clouds and safely touched down on a distant runway. A quick glance at the arrival-departure display confirmed that John's plane had just landed. Heavy snow had blanketed the Paris metro area since early morning and she had been worried his flight might be diverted.

The time to meet face-to-face had finally arrived. She was nervous… a little panicked if she was being completely honest with herself, but she was also ready. After months of talks and emails, she was certain he was someone she had been waiting to meet her entire life.

--

John shifted the strap of his carryon higher on his shoulder. He had packed with care and the rolling suitcase resting at his side was his only other luggage. The flight had seemed to last forever, but now that he was safely on the ground in Paris, he felt the flock of butterflies that had taken up residence in his stomach that morning flutter into chaotic flight.

Needing a distraction from his nervous energy, he let his thoughts return to the gossip that had sprung to life once word he had asked for a fifteen day leave over the Christmas holidays began to make the rounds of the precinct… and beyond. The personnel he routinely worked with at the ME's, TARU, and CSU had been almost as curious as his immediate coworkers.

His partner, Fin Tutuola, had nearly driven him up the wall demanding to know where he was going… and with whom. Cragen had threatened to withhold his approval until he told all. Stabler, Cabot, and Huang had spent their time trying to guess his plans… guesses that grew progressively wilder as the weeks passed. Liv… well, Liv had been the most fun to watch. She had tried every tactic in her arsenal to get him to talk, all to no avail. He had kept Grace amused with periodic updates on the 'Munch Conspiracy' as Fin called it.

For once, he had chosen to keep silent rather than do a lot of talking. That strategy had paid big dividends as he had spent the last two months stringing his colleagues along and enjoying their frustrated attempts to discover what he was planning. Somehow he had managed to escape their clutches without anyone being the wiser of his plans for the holidays… much to their annoyance!

Setting his carryon on the counter before the French Customs agent, he answered the series of questions the man fired at him. His luggage was searched and cleared after several minutes, freeing him to enter the main part of the airport. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the arrival area. The warmth of her lovely green eyes drove that breath from his lungs as he quickly found her smiling face on the edge of the throng awaiting the crowd deplaning from his flight.

/Damn! She's even more beautiful than I remembered!/

Weaving his way through the crowd, he came to a stop in front of her. They cautiously studied each other at close range for the first time in their acquaintance. John was quick to note that the smile on Grace's lips was a little forced, betraying her nerves. Something about this woman inspired a purely masculine need in him to protect her… to shield her from the capricious wimps of the rest of the world, though he knew better than to say something so chauvinistic out loud.

They hesitated, unsure of what form of greeting suited their unique relationship, before he gave into the demands of his heart. Moving slowly to give her time to back away if she was uncomfortable with his touch, he gently enfolded her in his arms. For a second or two, she remained stiff and unsure, but, before he could withdraw, she sagged against him.

Slim arms twined around his waist and Grace rested her cheek against his chest. Her hold tightened briefly as she settled into his embrace. He felt more than heard the soft sigh of relief and contentment that reassured him that she was as pleased by the way their first meeting had turned out as he was.

--

Grace eased her dark blue Peugeot 307 into an opening in the early evening traffic and carefully accelerated through the intersection. The snow had slowed to a flurry, but the roads were still clogged in places from the heavy accumulation that had built up over the course of the day. The afternoon had faded into twilight and the City had stilled momentarily as it shifted into a snowy Saturday night.

Risking a brief glance his way, Grace found herself smiling at the sight. It was obvious John was drinking in the ancient city with all of his senses as lights began to twinkle and illuminate its skyline. The storm clouds had begun to lift and break apart, allowing the moon and stars to peak through in places. The Eiffel Tower glowed like a beacon in the distance as they crested a rise on the northern outskirts of the City.

Sadly, she hadn't been able to afford a flat in the heart of Paris, but she had been lucky enough to find 'a room with a view' in a lovely section of one of the older parts of the City. That room was the tiny second bedroom she used as a studio. The other rooms had more modest views… the tiny street in front of her building… or the brick wall of the building next-door.

"I made us dinner reservations at a small bistro near my flat," she offered, breaking into the comfortable silence that had settled around them. "I figured you would be exhausted and it has a wonderful selection of basic fare… French comfort food. I would have cooked, but I thought you might enjoy this place for your first night here."

Turning to admire her profile, John grinned. "I'm in Paris in the company of the most beautiful woman I've ever known, so I'm not too hard to please! McDonald's would work under the circumstances."

A mock shudder accompanied, "Don't let my landlady hear you say that! She will complain for an hour about the 'decay of French culture caused by the Americanization of the world' and make it her mission to educate you on the finer points of French cuisine."

Chuckling, John countered, "Sounds like a plan to me. I love good food, so I'm always up for class if I get to eat my lessons."

"Madame David is probably standing at her window watching for us to get back," Grace warned. "She's become very protective of me. I guess having to rush me to the hospital my first week here made her think I need mothering… imagine that?! She's planning to grill you to see if you pass muster, so you might want to get your game face ready."

"Well she feed me while she's giving me the third degree?"

Cutting her eyes in his direction as she stopped at a traffic light, she retorted, "Depends on whether or not you make a good first impression, so pour on the charm and open doors… hold out chairs, that sort of thing. She loves chivalrous men."

"I have to pretend to be a gentleman?"

Laughing, the last of her nerves falling away as the banter of their emails reasserted itself. "Fake it if you have to, but that's the best advice I can give you. You're on your own from there."

--

John paused to admire the breathtaking scene her neighborhood made, the streetlights splashing off the brilliant white of the fresh snow. Tucking Grace's gloved hand a little tighter into the curve of his arm, he smiled down at the woman at his side. /Funny, I never realized how tiny she is/ he mused. The top of Grace's head barely reached his shoulders. /I've always thought of her as being tall and leggy. At least I got the leggy part right!/

"That was an amazing meal," he offered, relaxed and content for the moment. "That was the best bouillabaisse I've ever had… and that bread!"

Eyes twinkling, Grace nodded. "I know. I have to run an extra couple of miles each week to make up for the amount of bread I've been eating since I moved here. Not to mention the pastries!! I have such a sweet tooth its torture!"

A wicked grin accompanied the wolfish twinkle in his eyes. "I haven't noticed any problems with your figure… before or after your arrival in Paris."

The shy smile his comment produced tugged at his heart. "You're just being nice. I was so big when I got out of college that first time you saw me!"

Rolling his eyes, John countered, "You had curves in **all** the right places… I was afraid a couple of my partners were going to make pests of themselves. You caused quite a stir that day."

"No one noticed me but you," she argued. "I thought about that day so many times. I wished…"

Squeezing her hand, he pressed, "You wished what?"

Peeking up at him through the fringe of her bangs, she admitted, "I wished we hadn't just been passing through Baltimore… that you had come over."

Sighing, he offered, "I thought about it, but I heard you talking about the move to New York. Besides, I was in an on-again-off-again relationship at the time… more off than on, but still, Felecia deserved better than me hitting on other women behind her back."

Grinning, she teased, "You didn't look too committed to me."

Laughing, he agreed. "I wasn't committed, but we had agreed to be exclusive."

Tilting her head, Grace pondered, "How can you be exclusive but not committed?"

"OK, we weren't capital letters committed," he hedged. "We both knew it wasn't going to last much longer at that point. She wanted things I couldn't offer and… she wasn't the woman I needed either."

"This conversation is getting pretty serious," Grace observed, itching to ask the next logical question.

John smiled. "Yeah, it is. Go ahead… ask."

"What?"

"The question burning the tip of your tongue… what I need in a woman," he offered, cutting to the chase. "I'll make it easy on you and confess. I've finally realized I need a woman that stimulates me mentally as much as physically… maybe more so. It took me a long time to understand that."

"Oh."

Pulling her to a stop, he urged her around to face him. "I've enjoyed getting to know you over the internet, Grace. I think you're beautiful, but I happen to like and respect you as a person. I'm hoping you give me the chance to convince you to we've got something special here. OK?"

Her shy smile turned radiant. "I'd like that, John… more than like it."

He had first fallen under the thrall of her vivid green eyes in a rundown seafood shack in Baltimore. Ten years later, on a snowy winter night in December, he fell into them again… this time in Paris. /Actually, I'm not sure I ever managed to crawl out of them since that first day./

Holding her gaze, he slowly bent his head and captured her lips in their first kiss. An indulgently smiling crowd quietly walked around the oblivious pair. Some exchanged fond smiles of remembrance with their partners… others felt a ripple of longing to experience the same moment of total connection… the rest were simply amused, but this was Paris… this was love.

--

7/20/08

A/N -- I'm still toying with the idea of writing a few more chapters for this story… more likely a short sequel or two. For now, assume John is enjoying keeping his friends and colleagues in the dark about his new lady. Munch, John Munch… international man of mystery… or is that Man in Black? Maybe the Dark Knight??

Anyway, thanks for reading. I'd love to hear some feedback and if anybody want more of this pairing.

S


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